


Let Me Entertain You

by zooeyscigar



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Always, Exes to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Minor Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, No Sex, Past Gigi Hadid/Zayn Malik, Past Perrie Edwards/Zayn Malik, Past Zayn Malik/Harry Styles, harry is poly, too many song references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:33:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15373770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zooeyscigar/pseuds/zooeyscigar
Summary: Written to fill a prompt from Tara:Operating on the assumption that Zayn and Harry have not talked since Z left the band (he left for mental heath, eating disorder, and stress reasons), but that they were very close before he left. They had slept together and been there for each other (just never using the word "love" in a romantic sense to describe themselves though they were very much in love with each other). They both know they've written songs about each other but neither has taken the first step and contacted the other.Harry, for some reason, after hearing either "Entertainer", "Let Me", or both, is drunk and emotional and calls/texts/emails/whatever. (Maybe he has in the past but Zayn has ignored??)Zayn answers.It took me way too long and way too many words to finish this fucker, but I'm glad I did. Seriously, I started it when Harry wasn't even halfway through the last North American leg of his tour, and now everything I wrote about the end of his tour has been proven wrong. Whatever. I hope you enjoy it.





	Let Me Entertain You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Faerieoftara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerieoftara/gifts).



The night that Zayn’s song “Entertainer” dropped, Harry found himself drunk on gin in his hotel room with his phone in his hand, drafting a text.

It wasn’t the first text he’d sent Zayn since they’d stopped talking, but given that none of the previous ones had gotten responses, he knew this was one was doomed to the same fate. He didn’t care, though, he needed to send something.

Other things he’d texted were more willing to carry on a civil conversation, trying to re-establish whatever sort of place they’d had in each other’s lives. Maybe not going back to the same level of intimacy — they’d never manage that after the things they’d said when Zayn left the band — but at least some sort of friendship.

This text, however, all he could think to say was:

**_H: You already turned down your favorite entertainer._ **

He knew it was too harsh, and he might have been able to hold off from being so bitter, if he hadn’t been listening to “Let Me” every fifth time through “Entertainer” for the past three hours. There was nothing else to say, really. This was the truth and they both knew it.

But after another four listens, Harry’s phone buzzed and there on the screen was, of all things, a text from Zayn. The first one in nearly three years:

_**Z: Who turned who down? Don’t play like I’m still your sweet creature.** _

That stung. He hadn’t heard anything after that single dropped but Harry was sure Zayn knew the song was for him. It was so easy to fire back something that had stuck like a thorn in his side for the last month: 

**_H: And you’re not my man, no matter how many duvet days we’ve shared._ **

**_Z: Too right. But that wasn’t my fault now was it._**  

That was too much.

**_H: You were literally In Perrie’s Bed when I slept with Lou. How was I the one at fault?_ **

They’d already fought this out and Harry didn’t want to do it again, but Zayn wasn’t one to let go of, well, anything. Which was why it had been so hurtful after he’d left the band when he’d just dropped Harry like they’d never even been friends, let alone everything else.

**_Z: Perrie was a Known Quantity that you said you were fine with from the start. You KNEW how I felt about Lou._**  

_**H: And you knew how I felt about him as well. Z, I fell for all four of you. That has always been true. I loved you so much, but I was up front with the fact that I couldn’t do it exclusively.** _

**_Z: Past tense._ **

Harry stared at that text for a solid minute, trying to parse it. 

_**Z: Why are you even texting if you’re fucking using the past tense.** _  

Then it hit.

**_H: Past, present, future. For the rest of my life. For the rest of yours._**  

**_Z: Don’t fucking do that. Don’t quote me back to me._ **

**_H: Fine. I’m missing half of me when we’re apart._**  

**_Z: That’s fucking bollocks and you know it._**  

**_H: Even my phone misses your call by the way._ **

**_Z: Fucking hell._ **

**_Z: If you fucking quote another song at me I’m done._ **

Harry breathed a sigh of relief that Zayn wasn’t _already_ done with him. It’d certainly felt like he was, over the past couple years, especially.

**_H: I just... I fucking miss you mate._ **

**_Z: We're not mates._**  

**_Z: We're exes._**  

Harry swallowed hard. Zayn had never acknowledged what they’d been to each other. Not ever, not even in private. They'd been bandmates. They'd been friends. They'd gotten close and fooled around and wanted things from each other that you weren't supposed to want from people you only thought of as a mate. But Zayn was too cool for labels, whether they were for him or for the ways in which he mattered to others. Or, more importantly and obscurely, at least for Harry, how other people mattered to Zayn.

The fact that he'd come to see that what he and Harry had been to each other was akin to other romantic relationships in his life felt like a huge step.

**_H: Yeah. Still not over it, tbh_ **

**_Z: Shit with Gigi brought it all up again._ **

**_H: I'm sorry_**  

**_Z: What for?_**  

**_H: Just... generally sorry._**  

_**H: About Gigi. About Lou. About how angry I was when you left. That wasn't fair. You were going through some shit and I’d been so brainwashed to think that if we couldn't handle that insane schedule it was our failing, not management’s. I'm sorry for what I said.** _  

It didn't matter that Harry had already tried to apologize to Zayn about this stuff. A carefully worded email written in the light of day and sent along with contract paperwork would never have been accepted like a rambling text at 3am. He'd tried to write the latter a hundred times but had never gone through with actually sending it.

**_H: I think the world of you._ **

That... was probably going too far. Harry bit his lip and ran his fingers through his lengthening hair — still way too short but as long as management would allow — and waited for a response. He contemplated making another gin and tonic, told himself not to because he'd had enough, then caved and started mixing one. _And then_ another text came through. His stomach knotted up so tight even looking at the drink made him sick.  

**_Z: Yeah. Me too._**  

Harry wasn't sure if that meant Zayn was sorry or thought well of Harry, but he was too afraid to breathe, let alone ask.

**_Z: I fucked up a lot. I’m sorry. And I'm sure you should say no to this, but... coffee?_**  

Zayn was right. Harry should absolutely say no to that idea. But he really didn't want to. The problem was, he was halfway across the world on a tour that didn’t end for months. There was no popping out for a coffee together when the plane ride would take ten hours at least.

**_H: How?_**  

**_Z: Dunno_ **

**_H: I’m in fucking Buenos Aires._ **

**_Z: Yeah I know._ **

**_Z: When are you back?_ **

**_H: Not ‘til halfway thru July._ **

**_Z: Fucking hell mate._ **

**_H: I know. :/_**  

**_Z: New York?_**  

**_H: June 21-22_ **

**_Z: You got a flat there or a hotel?_**  

**_H: A condo._ **

**_H: Come by in the morning on the 22nd?_ **

**_Z: Yeah all right._ **

**_H: Cheers. Looking forward to it._ **

**_Z: Yeah. Me too. Later then._ **

**_H: Yeah. G’night, Z._ **

~~

At 11:23 EST on June 22nd, Harry was antsy and pacing, worse than he ever was before going on stage. He’d already had two cups of coffee, having been up since 9:00 because his body and his tour schedule hated him. At least he’d already eaten and had time to tidy up before Zayn got there.

_If_ Zayn got there. 

It had been just shy of a month since they’d made these plans, and they hadn’t texted in the meantime, though Harry had seen Zayn post something about NYC on his twitter yesterday. He didn’t have any idea what else Zayn might be doing in New York, or if he even felt like he needed an excuse. Or if he’d gotten here and then decided he wasn’t willing to have coffee with an old bandmate who’d hurt him dreadfully a few years ago.

Or maybe he’d come with Gigi — since it seemed they were back together — and she wasn’t willing to let Zayn keep his date with someone else.

Not that this was a _date_ or anything, obviously. For one, Harry was never this nervous when it came to stuff like that.

Either way, it was too early to start drinking, so he made a pot of tea and nearly scalded himself when he took his first sip just as a text came through:

**_Z: OMW_**  

Thank God.

**_H: The lift from the garage is rarely used. 25th floor. I’ll meet you in the hallway._**  

He dashed off the response quickly then triple checked that everything was ready in the kitchen and ran through the flat one more time to do a final assessment of whether it was ready for guests. Of course it was — he hadn’t been there long enough to make any actual mess.

And of course Zayn could be anywhere from ten minutes to an hour away, so he sat down on the sofa with his cuppa and tried to distract himself with social media. The world was still an awful place, however, and the dismal headlines didn’t help his mood any. Just as he was starting to pace again, another text chirruped.

**_Z: Here. Headed up._**  

Harry flung himself out the door and down the hallway to the back set of lifts and vibrated until one of the doors dinged and opened to reveal...

Zayn. Standing there. Sunnies on, fit and tailored and fucking gorgeous. His tattoos peeked out from under his jacket at his wrists and neck, his hair was cropped close and bleached, which contrasted starkly with his bronze skin and black clothes.

He stalked up to Harry in that slow way he had that looked cool but could also hide his nerves, and nodded. With the sunglasses on, Zayn’s face was unreadable, but the way his hands fidgeted with his cuffs helped Harry feel like he wasn’t the only one whose heart was galloping.

He should have offered a hug, but now it was too late, so he just reached out but didn't quite touch Zayn's elbow as he said, “Hey, erm, welcome. Come in,” and ushered Zayn inside and through to the kitchen.

Zayn unzipped his jacket and took off the sunnies, tucking them into an inside pocket, then took a half-squinting look around as if assessing the place.

Harry’s heart was in his mouth at simply once again sharing space with Zayn after so long. He tried to busy himself with getting the milk out of the fridge, but he didn’t want to look away and miss watching Zayn take in everything. He managed to avoid knocking anything over has he brought the carton to the kitchen island where all the coffee things were set up, but he slopped milk all around as he filled the little pitcher he’d set out. So much for earning points for being fancy.

Zayn had stepped into the hallway, peeking his head into the front room and the music room before turning back to Harry.

“Nice,” he said finally, and Harry could breathe again.

“Cheers,” he managed, head ducking shyly. “Coffee?”

“Thanks, much.”

Zayn didn’t make a move toward the island so Harry made up a mug for each of them, adding milk and sugar to both. He was fixing it like they used to drink it when they were first developing caffeine addictions, back when they all relied too heavily on coffee to get them through their grueling days, but before their palates had caught up to the bitterness of the beans. He figured Zayn would forgive him the nostalgia factor.

“Nice and sweet, for old time’s sake,” he said by way of apology as he rounded the island and handed Zayn his mug. Their fingers brushed and Harry’s heart didn’t restart until a moment later.

“Erm, shall we...?” He gestured toward the front room and Zayn led the way, taking off his jacket and throwing it on a chair before sprawling back into the sofa’s soft cushions as if he owned it.

Harry perched in the other corner, one leg underneath him, lower back pressed against the arm of the sofa. He covered his complete lack of something to say with a sip of his coffee, wondering what on earth the two of them even had to talk about after all this time.

“I, erm...” Zayn rested his mug on one thigh, the fingers of his free hand tapping a light rhythm on the other. “I just. How are you?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Harry nodded as if that would concretize the lie into truth. “Busy. Tour’s... well, tour. Fast and furious. That insane pace, _you_ know...”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Zayn spoke softly, into his coffee mug, eyelashes obscuring his eyes from view.

“No, I know. After this one I’m slowing it down.” Harry couldn’t look away, even though it seemed Zayn was loath to look up at him. “I hear you’ll be back at it soon.”

“Gonna try...” With a wry grin, Zayn raised his mug in a half-hearted salute. Harry raised his in solidarity. “We’ll see.”

“Is Gigi going with you?”

Zayn’s brow furrowed, then cleared in a laugh. “Nah mate. She’s trying — well, her people are trying — to keep up the charade, but we’re not...” He took a sip of his coffee, then cleared his throat. “It’s better for both of our images to be seen together. But she never missed me, just her instagram likes.”

“So... the breakup in March?”

He nodded. “That was real. But by May there was pressure from both our camps to try again. I almost flew out to Mexico City when you played there three weeks ago, but they _really_ don't like it when I spend time with blokes.” He shook his head and shifted in his seat. “But what about you? Anyone? Have you and Nick finally...?”

“No,” Harry said, possibly a bit too quickly. He was still reeling from the idea of Zayn wanting to surprise him in Mexico. That would have been only a week after their text conversation. “Grimmy and I will never.”

“Never what, mate? Admit it?”

“We’ve never... done anything. Apart from snog a bit, drunkenly.”

“Well that’s how it starts, innit?” Zayn’s eyes were bright with humor but his tone was sharp as a knife.

“Not with him. I've learned my lesson that sometimes a friendship matters too much to risk it by changing the rules.”

Zayn swallowed his coffee and looked sideways at Harry. “Is that right?”

“I would have traded a lot for still having you in my life these past few years.”

Chin swinging up as if in challenge, Zayn immediately countered with, “Yeah? What would you have traded?”

_Shit. Time to tread carefully._ “Erm... I’d trade the fact that I could never touch you in public. That we could only manage quick fucks in hotel bathrooms. That management did bed checks in the morning, so we never got to spend the night together. That one of us had to feign sickness to get a duvet day and then they didn’t want anyone else near him because they’d get sick, too. The number of times I fake vomited...” He shook his head.

“That’s all the bad stuff. What good thing would you have traded to still have me in your life?”

Zayn’s head was tilted back against the sofa, exposing his neck. The tattoo of his age was prominently in view and Harry couldn’t help comment on it. “Twenty five, eh?”

“Yeah? And?” Zayn’s eyes had gone wide for just a moment, as if he’d been caught out, and Harry looked more closely at the ink.

The 2 was in scarlet and the 5 was in black, which made it look less like 25 than something else. Harry didn’t think it had to do with cards or roulette, but he couldn’t be sure. They’d gambled enough of their lives away that it wouldn’t be off-brand. He himself had 17black inked on his skin, after all.

But five was an important number for them — for Harry at least, since he had been so enamored with the band as a whole and felt a connection to each of the lads in it. Even after Zayn left he still thought of One Direction as having five members, and the whole _Made in the AM_ tour he’d felt Zayn’s absence as a nearly palpable thing. Five minus one is pain.

“Nothing. To answer your question, I don’t know. I know what I _wouldn’t_ have traded, though.” Zayn’s eyebrow arched at that and Harry had to take a deep breath to admit something like this. But when would he have another chance to sit across from Zayn and say the things he’d been itching to say for years now?

“For all the world, I never would have traded the way you looked at me when I was acting a fool to make you laugh. The way your hands felt on me after a show. Lying in bed, tangled up in each other and the sheets, talking about nothing. Not one of the tattoos we share. I treasure so many moments, and it’s been hard without you, but, you know, ‘better to have loved and lost’...”

“Past tense,” Zayn said, shaking his head as if Harry had failed some sort of test.

“You act like you’re doing anything to change that. I have loved you. I have lost you. If there’s something I can do to regain your trust and move forward in the present...”

“C’mere.” Zayn twitched his fingers at Harry, who felt the undeniable pull of Zayn's magnetism in the exact center of his chest.

Harry brought both his legs up onto the sofa and scooted closer, still facing Zayn, until his knees were nudging up against Zayn’s thigh. Zayn immediately rested his arm on Harry’s leg as if claiming the space for himself. It felt so familiar that something cracked inside Harry’s chest as the swell of feeling overtook him.

“How did you manage it? The coming out?” Zayn turned to look Harry in the face, his eyes full of that puppydog pleading that never failed to melt Harry into a puddle.

“I didn’t come out. I was only myself on stage and people waved pride flags at me, so I brought them on stage and waved them around myself.” Harry shrugged. “I was only signalling to my queer fans that I see them, and they in turn saw me. It’s not far off from the way you and Liam flagged with your hankies, I suppose. There’s still a lot of folks who won’t believe I’m queer.”

Zayn hummed thoughtfully and the sound made Harry sigh. He could almost feel it in his own chest. Of course then Zayn ruined the quiet moment by saying, “Yeah, but then you started singing about giving blowjobs, so...”

Harry swatted at him and made him giggle, but didn’t have the heart to get into an actual play-fight. Not after all the real fighting they’d done.

“I missed it.”

“Blowjobs? What, Lou doesn’t like them?”

“Oi, give over. It’s different with him.”

“Present tense.” Zayn’s smile had slipped and his eyes had a wary look. “Thought you said you weren’t with anyone.”

“It’s _Lou._ You know how it is with him. ‘Might as well...’”

Zayn’s eyebrows lifted in understanding and surrender. Glad to be done with that topic of conversation, Harry rested his head against the back of the sofa, his temple against the cool, overstuffed leather. In this position his eyes were drawn once again to the tattoo on the side of Zayn’s neck and, without thinking, he reached out to trace it, his finger brushing just under Zayn’s jawline.

At his touch, Zayn flinched slightly but then held perfectly still. Harry couldn’t help dragging his finger down the line on Zayn’s neck from his jaw to the collar of his shirt. “It sort of looks more like Two of Five than Twenty-five.”

“Yeah?”

Was it Harry’s imagination or was Zayn a bit breathless?

“And the two being in red feels...”

“What?” Zayn’s face betrayed a mixture of fear and hope, and Harry’s heart skipped fast behind his ribs as he spoke.

“Red is for passion. Romance.” _Love._ “A red two of five... lads? Are you and I... This is us?” Harry’s finger gingerly touched the 2 and he could feel Zayn’s heartbeat thrumming under his jaw.

“Yeah,” Zayn shrugged, his lips pooched out a bit, an eyebrow high, as if he could hide his embarrassment. “Well...”

“You got that after the break up?” Harry pressed forward a couple inches, his gaze still captured by the side of Zayn’s face and neck.

Zayn nodded, his eyes on his coffee mug in his lap. His cheekbones were tinted pink and when he swallowed, Harry watched his adam’s apple bob. “I told you it brought shit up.”

_After all this time._

Harry’s heartbeat hammered a syncopated rhythm, and on the off beats his chest ached at all the time they’d lost. 

“You could have called. You never once called.”  

Another shrug. “We’d broken up.” Zayn listed toward Harry, putting more weight on the arm across Harry’s leg, their heads now only a few inches apart. “You had Louis and your fucking film career, and I had my music and Gigi.”

Harry leaned forward until his forehead rested against Zayn’s temple. His mouth was an inch from Zayn’s ear when he whispered, “I fucking missed you.”

“What part?” Zayn’s voice sounded lower and it resonated through Harry’s skull.

“Every part,” he responded immediately. As he continued, he traced the mandala on the back of Zayn’s hand still resting on his knee. “Your smile, your voice, your daft face. Your bad jokes, your pecs, my arms around your waist. Your laugh, your naff style, your thoughtful noises. Your mouth, your appetite. Those bloody perfect eyelashes.”

He tilted his head slightly and brushed his lips against the shell of Zayn’s ear. “Your kisses...”

Zayn grunted softly and shifted, turning his head just enough for Harry to reach the corner of his mouth. Lips lingering there, Harry sighed against Zayn’s skin, “Your hands...”

Without warning, Zayn grabbed his hips and pulled him over to straddle his lap. This also felt familiar and Harry chuckled low and wicked at how Zayn’s whole body was arched up to reach Harry’s mouth with his own.

“Fucking tease,” he breathed, hot on Harry’s throat.

“You asked...” Harry laughed into Zayn’s mouth before finally kissing him. God, it felt good. He’d kissed loads of people in the past three years but none of them kissed like Zayn did — like he belonged there and would take what he wanted, but would leave you fucking satisfied.

Muscle memory took over and they fell into their old rhythm, Harry grinding down on Zayn’s lap as he bit Harry’s lips, jaw, neck, and collarbone. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Come on, baby, let me....”

“Let you what?” Harry asked, breathless.

“You know what I want.” Zayn’s hands trailed up Harry’s back, underneath his loose, flowing shirt.

“Is that all you want? Did you not miss anything else?” He’d meant it to come off playful, but he couldn’t hide the fact that it was a legitimate concern.

“God, I’ve missed fucking everything. Every last bit of being with you. But I’d burned my bridges and was in such bad shape when I left that...” He shook his head. “It took Gigi putting me back together and then slowly tearing me apart again for me to finally listen to what I needed — what I wanted. What I’d lost. But you’d moved on, so what was there to do about it?”

“Fucking— _ask me,_ maybe? Don’t just write songs about us and get a fucking tattoo about how much you miss it and—”

“Right, like half your fucking album isn’t about us? I know some of it’s the other lads and your own gender stuff, but honestly...”

“Touché.” Harry slumped in Zayn’s lap and felt arms wrapped around his waist, holding him close.

“I suppose texting’s more efficient than sending messages by top 40 song,” Zayn mumbled into Harry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well, fucking _answer_ my texts then, you wanker.”

“Fair dues. From now on, I promise.”

“Too right.”

“I miss your hair,” Zayn said, nosing his way up Harry’s neck to nibble his earlobe.

“Fuck. Me too. If I get that Jagger biopic they’ll let me grow it out.”

“Cheers to that.” Zayn nibbled his way to Harry’s mouth then kissed him deep and slow, one hand on the nape of his neck, the other sliding into the back of his jeans to grab his arse.

Harry moaned into his mouth and Zayn seemed to take that as a cue to lay him down on the sofa and press himself along the full length of Harry’s body. The weight of him was just right, and Harry moaned again, softly. They’d so rarely been given the chance to take their time together and Harry revelled in the luxury of this moment.

Between wet slides of his lips and tongue against Harry’s, Zayn murmured, “You gonna let me, or...?”

“Let you what? Come on, Z, use your words.”

Zayn grunted as he dragged their hips together, his forehead resting on one of Harry’s bird tattoos. His fingers were already fumbling with the buttons on Harry’s shirt, working their way down to his waistband. “Lemme use my mouth...”

“You... you’re serious?” Harry’s skin caught fire in every place Zayn was touching him. The promise of Zayn’s mouth, so ready and eager after Harry had dreamed about it for years, made him dizzy.

As he concentrated on unbuttoning Harry’s jeans, Zayn bit his bottom lip, kiss-red and plump as a cherry, and Harry nearly swooned on the spot. “Christ, wait a mo’. This is...”

It was amazing, incredible, beyond anything he could have hoped for — but, he hated to admit, way too sudden.

“Wha’?” Zayn locked eyes with Harry and seemed to take in how wrecked Harry felt. “All right?”

“N — not really, no. Erm...”

Zayn’s hands stilled. “What’s up?”

“God, Z. I just... I can’t believe I’m saying this, but. Can we not fuck? I can’t jump right back into bed with you and not feel shaky about it. And, like, everything else already feels really up in the air and uncharted for me right now, and I would hate myself if I fucked this up—”

“‘S alright, pet.” Zayn slid his hands up Harry’s torso from hip laurels to swallow wings, kissing the butterfly on the way, and looked him directly in the eye. “It can wait.”

“I’m not trying to test your patience or set up hurdles or—”

He was already shaking his head. “Nah, luv. ‘S really all right. Because you’re not wrong. We shouldn’t just...” He grimaced, as if trying to will his erection away. Which, knowing him, wasn’t going to work. “If I’ve waited this long, I can manage a bit longer. ‘Til you feel ready. No pressure, honestly...”

“Ha. Right. Just the tightness in my pants, is all.” Harry grinned at the laugh he startled out of Zayn.

“Too right. You’re back home again, when?”

“Mid-july.”

“And my tour starts top of August. That’s a good two weeks.”

Harry nearly whimpered at the wicked look in Zayn’s eyes — it was a knowing look, as if he could sense the futility Harry felt at trying to resist this beautiful arsehole again at a later date.

“Gives you enough time to win me over, then,” he snarked. “I won’t give out until I’m certain of you, you know.”

“I’ll do me best to be presentable.”

“I’m not bringing you home to mum, Zayn. Just... a little effort, perhaps. And no expectation that I’m just gonna lie back and let you.”

“Let me...?”

“Anything."

“Let me treat you like a princess? Because I'd very much like that.” Zayn had gathered Harry up in those strong, wiry arms and was cuddling him like a teddy bear.

Harry sighed into the embrace and let Zayn hand over his coffee so they could sit and sip cozily together. “Actually, yeah,” he mumbled after a moment. “That’s exactly what I want.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Zayn said with the fondest of smiles, and Harry took a deep, healing breath, grateful at being seen so completely. It had been way too long.

~~

**_H: Mate, something’s happened._**  

**_Lou: Yeah? What?_**  

**_H: Zayn_**  

**_Lou: Sorry? Zayn *happened*? WTF does that mean?_**  

**_H: We’ve gotten back... in touch._**  

**_Lou: How Much touch?_**  

**_H: Coffee and a snog on my couch in NYC_**  

**_Lou: Interesting. And?_**  

**_H: And we’re going to spend time together when I’m home._**  

**_Lou: And??_**  

**_H: Probably more snogging and maybe some other stuff._**  

**_Lou: Like, butt stuff?_**  

**_H: OMG Lou c’mon_ **

**_Lou: What?_**  

**_H: Idk say something._**  

**_Lou: Like what? I’m glad, baby._**  

**_H: Glad?_**  

**_Lou: Yes? Haven’t you been pining for him for, like, ever?_**  

**_H: Oi, I have not._**  

**_Lou: Pshaw. You need him. He’s pulled his head out his arse, hopefully, and come crawling back. I’m proud of him, and glad for you._**  

**_H: You’re not..._**  

**_Lou: Upset? Nah, luv. Why would I be? Haven’t you been in love with all of us for years, and haven’t I figured out how to be okay with that ages ago?_**  

**_H: But... you haven’t had to deal with jealousy over Zayn before._**  

**_Lou: Like hell I haven’t. You wrote *at least* five songs about him. From The Dining Table is so much more vulnerable and needy than Two Ghosts._**  

**_Lou: But I promise I’m really and truly glad for you both. Nialler and Li will be glad to hear it too._**  

**_H: Yeah, but neither of them has shared their bed with me, now, have they?_**  

**_Lou: Not recently, no. ;)_**  

**_H: :P Not since we were eighteen._**  

**_Lou: Correction: not since *you* were 18._**  

**_H: You know what? I’m going to stay with Niall when I get back._**  

**_Lou: Just a little bit of your heart is all I want._**  

**_H: Oh, sweetheart. That’s... I’m_**  

**_Lou: If you apologize I’m giving up._**  

**_H: On what?_**  

**_Lou: You’re the one who started all this poly nonsense. Shit or get off the pot, luv._**  

**_H: All right. As long as you’re okay with... stuff happening._**  

**_Lou: I’m okay with stuff. And things. Have fun with him. As long as you don’t forget about me._**  

**_H: Never._**  

**_Lou: Good. Xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo_**  

**_H: <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 _ **

~~

Last date of the tour, finally. Second night at The Forum, far from any of the cool parts of L.A., playing for nearly 17,000 people. 

_God, it’ll be good to go home tomorrow._

One of the boxes has a couple big film studio execs in it, but Harry’s forgotten which one. There are probably other L.A. celebrities in whatever other VIP sections exist, but he doesn’t care. He hasn’t given out backstage passes to anyone, so he can just concentrate on giving a good last performance and then getting himself to bed.

Ever since New York he’s changed up the setlist a bit, and tonight he’s putting all the Zayn songs right at the end of the show. When he lines them all up like this, it’s a _lot._ Lou was right. Well, there’s nothing for it — he’s a sappy arse and he’s not afraid to admit it.

Especially not now that Zayn admits to doing the same. Harry rewatched the video of Zayn’s song for that bad and wrong Fifty Shades movie recently, and he was shocked at how the entire thing is about two of his exes missing the fuck out of, well, _him._ Who else do they have in common, after all? It made him want to text Taylor just to check in. Their coffee date is set for next Tuesday.

The past three weeks have been a whirlwind, as always when on tour, but the near constant stream of communication with Zayn has helped ground him in ways he hadn’t expected.

Lou is a love but also flighty and distractible and busy with his own career, trying to get all his PR ducks in a row and still working on that fucking album. He hasn’t been very present for Harry recently, which is fine, it’s just left a bit of a vacuum. The other lads have their own things going on too — Liam and his fucking pride parade thing still makes Harry laugh — so it’s really been Zayn who has kept Harry sane.

And he’s so grateful. And also so smitten all over again.

Zayn has quietly and sweetly supported Harry, been a good friend who will listen or distract as needed, has buoyed him up with compliments and little flirtations that have given Harry the confidence he’s needed to get through this last, most tiring leg of the tour. All in all Zayn’s been an utter dream.

It's felt even better than last time, when they were head over heels and goofy about it. This time it feels more steady, like what they have won't just vanish as soon as they run into some sort of obstacle. Harry couldn't have asked for better assurance that he wasn't making the same mistake over again.

He still feels giddy like he's been caught up in a whirlwind, his stomach flipping every time he gets another text, but the dread — of being found out, of losing him to some other distraction, of hurting everyone else in the band — isn't back to throw a shadow on his happiness.

The Two-Minutes-Until-Places call rips Harry out of his reverie, and he shakes his hands out, taking a deep breath to steady himself before stepping on stage. On a whim, he chooses a rose from the bouquet Zayn has sent to his dressing room — similar but not identical to the one he’s sent to every dressing room for the last eleven shows — and sticks it in his buttonhole.

He hadn’t noticed that this bouquet came with a card, and he shouldn’t waste precious moments before his entrance reading it and getting fluttery again, but he can’t help himself. The familiar, spiky handwriting makes his stomach flip before he’s even read the note.

**_Looking forward to seeing you. From the upstage box. xxZ_ **

Harry literally gasps out loud.

Hands shaking, he grabs his phone from the makeup table and fires off a text.

**_H: Are you fucking here??? WTF Z_**  

**_Z: Yeah? Why not? Thought it’d be all right..._**  

**_Z: Is it not?_**  

**_H: No, It’s amazing. I’m..._**  

**_Z: I missed you._**  

**_H: Oh God, me too. I’ve got to... Christ, baby. They’re calling places. After?_**  

**_Z: Yeah. Can I come backstage?_**  

**_H: Only you. :*_**  

**_Z: XOXOXOXO_**  

**_H: Yes please_**  

The stagehand sent to fetch him is waving frantically, so Harry drops his phone on his chair and heads out, taking deep, calming breaths as he walks to the stage. The before-show nerves haven’t been this bad in ages.

But once he’s on stage, everything settles into place. This is exactly right. He was born to do this. And everyone in this huge arena is there to love on him the entire night.

And he’s got Zayn at his back just like old times, like it was always meant to be.

The band strikes up the first song and Harry is flying. He closes his eyes, all the stars align... and it’s just right. 

~~

Zayn slips like a ghost into Harry’s dressing room as he’s still shucking off his suit jacket and mopping up the sweat cooling on his skin. Harry’s exhausted, the adrenaline, as it leaves his system, is causing shakes, but he gives Zayn his best smile and waves him over. 

“Can’t fucking believe you,” Zayn mutters as he crosses the room, shaking his head with a fond smile. He mimic’s Harry’s stage persona as he quotes, “These last few songs are my favorites right now. They’re thematically linked, at least in my own head, and maybe one other...”

“Look. I had this set planned out yesterday. Long before that damned bouquet showed up, so—”

“So you’re telling me you’re even more sentimental than I thought?” Zayn’s hands are sliding over Harry’s hips, wrapping around to settle on the dip above his arse.

“It’s as if you don’t even know me at all,” Harry mumbles into the skin of Zayn’s warm, inviting neck.

Zayn huffs a laugh, hugging Harry tightly. “Guess I’d forgotten. Won’t make that mistake again.”

“Which one’s that, then?” Harry teases cheekily. “There’ve been so many, on both sides.”

“The one where I let you go.” Zayn’s hand cups the back of Harry’s head, fingers buried deep in his hair. “Never. Again.”

“I don’t care if we’re rushing into this, I'm so fucking glad you're here.”

“It doesn’t feel like rushing when I’ve loved you for so long.”

That stops Harry short and makes his stomach swoop. He can't recall Zayn ever using that word with regard to him. “How long?”

“Don’t you know, you prat?”

Harry blinks at Zayn. He's at a loss, his insides trembling at the casual revelation, but he tries to recover with a lighthearted response. “I know when I realized I was falling for you, but we all know I fall fast and hard for basically everyone, way too soon. Only the best stay in my heart always.” He rests his hand on Zayn’s chest, who immediately covers it with his own hand. Harry looks up with a smile but sees Zayn’s tiny, thoughtful, worried frown and he stops breathing.

“I wanted you the moment we met, when I first caught sight of that dimple and your shining eyes,” Zayn says softly, fondly. The hand on the back of Harry’s head is a steadying weight as Zayn continues. “But when I knew what I felt was _love_ was the first time you kissed me. On the cheek.”

“But... we weren't even eighteen. Or, I wasn't. ” Harry remembers the moment exactly.

The lads had been alternately horsing around, play-fighting, taking the piss, and flirting — depending on who you asked and what they wanted — for long enough that things had gotten heated, in more ways than one. Harry had tried to call a truce and told the others to ‘kiss and make up’ but they were all being boys about it and refused. So he did. He’d kissed each of them on the face, telling them he loved them and meaning it, though at the time that love was much more of the puppy variety than full-on romantic. He'd kissed Niall’s forehead, Louis’ nose, Liam's jaw, and and the top of Zayn’s cheekbone, right below his eye.

It had been more than a year later that they'd finally hooked up, after working towards it for a very long time, and Harry had never been sure of Zayn's feelings then, or at any time during their failed relationship. It had been a source of stress for him, throwing doubt on his own feelings about everyone in the band, and had probably contributed to his bitter feelings upon Zayn's announcement that he was leaving.

To be sure of his feelings now is one thing, but to hear Zayn use the word ‘love’ so easily... It's a gift he hadn't expected, and he’s thrown off balance as much as the when he'd read Zayn's card before the show.

But gifts beget gratitude, and Harry has never felt so lucky to be so blindsided in his fucking life.

Heart in his throat, he kisses Zayn now in the same place he'd done years ago, as Zayn’s eyelashes brush against his nose. “I love you, Zayn Malik.”

A tiny sigh of relief escapes Zayn's slightly open lips. “Present tense.”

“Every tense.”

“Love you too, Hazzah.”

Zayn’s slow eyes have been focused on Harry's mouth, and he finally leans in and captures it with his own. He kisses Harry like he’s been starving himself since they’d last met. The hunger, the passion, the urgency, all tell Harry more than Zayn would ever be able to find words for. Especially the tenderness. That feels new. Zayn's hands have a way of getting what they want, and Harry used to revel in the roughness with which he was handled, but now Zayn is holding Harry like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. Harry has never felt so cherished. It's... a lot.

“Take me to bed, Zayn. I'll let you do anything you like. I'm a fool for you and the things you do. ”

A huff of hot breath on the damp skin of Harry's neck makes him shiver with want. “What if...” Zayn's nose burrows into the hair behind Harry's ear. “All I want is to hold you.”

Harry melts against him, giving Zayn most of his weight. Zayn takes it easily and seems to revel as much as Harry in how completely their bodies are pressed together. To feel so loved and supported — literally and figuratively — makes Harry's words catch in his throat. “And this time you'll stay ‘til the morning?”

“Absolutely, darlin’. And every night after for a fortnight if you'll have me.”

“For the rest of my life. For the rest of yours.”

A resigned sigh escapes Zayn's lips, but Harry knows it's the wording not the sentiment behind it that he's protesting. Harry can't help but giggle. “You'll never be done with me, admit it.”

“Never, love. It's you.”

The haunting melody of that song catches in Harry's head so he hums it against Zayn's skin, his own voice strange to his ear — low and husky from the night of performing. He can't tell which of them starts it, but soon they are swaying in a circle to the lazy rhythm of Zayn's song in Harry's mouth.

When Zayn comes out with the perfect improvised harmony, lilting it softly into Harry’s hair, nothing has ever felt more right.


End file.
